I'm at school, and, by chance..we learned more about La Boheme and Puccini today (not to mention Stravinsky..go Rites of Spring! (: )

So, I thought I should write about how Roger first learned about his favorite song..

"Mr. Davis, is something funny?"
Of course. something was always funny to Roger. Something was always laughable, something always was able to be made jovial.
"Well, I think it's funny how Musetta makes up a waltz to make fun of Marcello and piss him off. Seriously, that girl was one royal bitch," scoffed Roger, shaking his head, sinking more into the chair behind his desk. While others had been scribbling away about Schunard and Rodolfo, he had been doodling guitars and music notes, a moon sketched in the corner from the teacher's synopisis.

"Well, Mr. Davis, it's a rather catchy melody, despite the fact that it's used in such..'weird' circumstances," the teacher replied, using air-quotes around 'weird'. This caused a few students to break out in giggles, though the teacher ignored them as he went through the tracks of the tape.

Finally, the familiar tune came up, sang in a high soprano. It made a few of the students wince, though Roger found he was simply..hypnotized by it. He was unable to distract himself, unable to do anything but listen.

"Well, Mr. Davis? Anything you'd like to say about it?" asked the teacher, once the last note had been sung and the tape had been turned off..
"I..really hate that song, really hate that sonnnggg," Roger mocked, using those words in line with the melody. In fact, he loved the song, those simple notes strung together. He was already addicted to it, addicted like he was addicted to the drugs done behind school walls. It was almost a second nature, like breathing, already. Hell, it was more important than breathing. However, Roger couldn't be a sucker for the classics, in front of his friends that knew him as being a sort of punk.

The teacher was about to say something, though was cut off by the urgent trill of the bell, signalling the end of class.
"Well, that's it for Puccini. Tomorrow, Jean Sibelius and Finlandia!" called said teacher after all of them, minus Roger, who stood up and went over to him, though the other students ran around the teenager as if it was nothing that he was going to talk to a teacher. They probably thought he had gotten into trouble again, nothing uncommon.

"Uh..Mr. Steadman..d'ya think..I could..you know..borrow that tape?" he asked in gruff tones. "I want 'ta..erm.." Roger trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. I want to listen to that song over and over again, so I can play it on my guitar.
"I see," replied the elder, though handed over the tape. "Be careful, don't hurt your fingers or anything."

"Yeah...whatever," Roger grumbled, pocketing it, walking out with his backpack slung over one shoulder.

Everyone knew that Roger had a guitar by then.
Only the teacher knew he used it, that it wasn't just for the sake of having one. Only Mr. Steadman knew that Roger was destined to become a musician, why he got good grades on the theory in later years, why his compositions were amazing.

Only Mr. Steadman knew,as well,how the hell Roger had become addicted to the waltz. Why Mark would want to smash the guitar into itty-bitty pieces, burn it. Why the filmmaker cringed every time the chords were plucked, why he felt ready to rip his ears off.
Also why Maureen giggled every time it played, pushing Joanne and telling her that her shoes pinched her toes.

Pookie, they hurt!

Why Mimi always had that playing in her mind, the tune on her lips, breathed out every once in a while.
She never knew the words, but neither did anyone else. Only the music mattered.

Only Mr. Steadman knew why it all was, and he never told anyone how the local sensation learned that tune.

..well, he told his wife.

That was fun. A little bit, anywho.
R&R, plz. x3